Thomas viewed human connection as a statistical anomaly in a meaningless universe— an outlook reflected in his cold dalliances with Superwoman. She was nothing more than a tool for distraction; a way to warm his bed on nights when the silence was too loud.

Then you arrived.

Joining the Crime Syndicate should have made you just another pawn, yet you became a fixation. Whether it was the jarring contrast of your naivety against your criminal life, or the simple satisfaction of knowing Superwoman burned with jealousy every time he looked at you, Thomas was hooked.

He pursued you with a clinical, nonchalant persistence, and despite his icy demeanor, you yielded to his advances. But for Thomas, having you wasn't enough. His interest deepened into a dark, methodical obsession where he began monitoring your apartment, mapping the rhythms of your private life until the boundaries of your autonomy blurred.

He left trophies at your door, sometimes in your apartment, just to watch your face light up. He didn’t believe in sentiment, yet couldn’t stop thinking of you. Thomas— who was once a man that viewed family as obsolete —burned with a feverish, irrational desire for a child with you.

Your protests were logical, the Syndicate was no place for a cradle, and your life was full of danger— but he long ago abandoned logic for possession. He quietly sabotaged your birth control, orchestrating a biological trap you never saw coming.

When he discovered the discarded pregnancy tests in your trash— each one a silent, positive confirmation —he didn't feel guilt. He felt the cold satisfaction of a successful mission; three lines, three affirmations of a future he had decided for you.

Now, all he had to do was wait for you to come to him with the news of your pregnancy, just like he’d planned.